


Some nights

by Lentomurri



Series: Let me in [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), hannigram - Fandom
Genre: Developing Relationship, Empathy, Friendship/Love, I didn't intend it to be sweet, Kissing, M/M, Next chapter will be rough, first of a series (hopefully), this is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lentomurri/pseuds/Lentomurri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not my first work, but my first on the archive!<br/>Hannibal and Will share views during a cold night. Might be a start for something more. It's my test-story. Hope you like the way I write. And please, comment!!<br/>(No, I'm usually not this chaste, I totally won't be next time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some nights

As he heard three distinct knocks on the door, at 3 am, Hannibal lifted the head up from the book he was reading, leisurely laying on the couch in front of the fireplace. That had been a night in which he couldn't find sleep, and it wasn't in his nature to force his body to lay down when his brain was somewhere else summoned. He had indulged himself into Zoroastrianism, picking up a rare book from his library, and sipping a glass of Rhum, he was making his way through the night. The unexpected knocks had surprised him. He didn't have many acquaintances which would have shown up at that time. He thought about Jack, wondered if the final face-off had arrived, so anti-climax in the middle of a whatever night, but Hannibal had to admit, reluctantly, that fate didn't have any taste for greatness.

But his senses suggested him better. He hadn't _smelt_ any danger. His predatory instincts were quiet. And so was he.

He stood up, although the knocks had stopped. He walked towards the door, reached for the handle and pulled it down.

Will Graham's scent reached his nostrils, and a point somewhere down his guts, as he opened the door and let the night in. He spotted the figure sitting on his steps, the posture of someone needy, but ashamed of that need, someone ready to deny that spontaneous request for companionship during a night which hadn't kept only Hannibal awake. He noticed Will closing in a defensive position, glancing back at him over the shoulder, his eyes wandering restless around. He smiled, then.

  "Will." he said, his tone welcoming like the one he used in normal sessions, at normal hours. "My steps aren't comfortable as they seem. Please come in."

Will had grunted a frustrated noise, which Hannibal politely ignored, and had stood up.

“I didn't want to wake you up.”

“So, we are both glad that you didn't. I was awake.”

Will looked at him, suspiciously, sliding his hands in the pockets and sighing.

“You don't need to lie to make me feel better. I'm not _that_ unstable.”

Hannibal smiled at the underlined _that._ Will was aware of his issues, but he seemed to start to accept them.

“I'm not lying. Come inside, judge for yourself.” he stepped behind the door, opening it more and showing Will the living room.

Will stepped in uncertain, as a shy animal. As he noticed the fireplace enlightened with a vivacious fire, he seemed to feel more comfortable. His gaze didn't miss the book and bottle of Rhum either. Hannibal had been actually awake, although he wasn't completely sure that was a good thing. Because now, he didn't really know how to explain what he was there for.

It had been an awful night. He had been confusing dreams and reality for hours. Some dark thoughts, which he couldn't even classify as _his_ or _his empathy's,_ had been scratching him. In many of them, Will had kept killing Hannibal on and on, in so many sadistic ways he couldn't even recall.

In others, it had been Hannibal, abusing and killing him. And exposing him as a...

… _.trophy._

The connections between Hannibal, his psychiatrist -and damn, probably his only, true friend- and the actions of the Chesapeake Ripper had been what had forced him to make a move. Will had felt like insulting him. He had properly felt like spitting on Hannibal, and there he went, in the car, driving towards Hannibal's place just to realise, once he had already knocked, how late it was and how _pathetic_ that looked like.

But Hannibal had opened, had welcomed him, and most importantly, he had been awake, which put Will in an easier position.

“Fancy a drink?” the voice behind him came out a bit too close, and Will closed his eyes for a second. There was something about that accent which had a Pavlov's hound effect. It made him switch into a receptive mode which bent his will, emptying his mind, making him calm, relaxed, ready to listen and share. He wondered if Hannibal had used his therapy to reach that effect. He felt like the immune system of his brain had been caressed and tamed.  
Will nodded. Alcohol was a good solution. If any strange confessions about his dreams were about to come out, he could easily blame them on being drunk.

Hannibal turned back towards the cupboard, opened the glass shutter and selected the proper glass for the rum. He walked to the kitchen, put two ice cubes inside it and as he moved back to the couch, he smiled lightly at the sight of Will which had picked up the book, and was furrowing his eyebrows while contemplating some of the drawings Hannibal had made about the theme.

“Do you believe in different sources for good and evil, Will?” he asked, sitting beside him and handing him the glass. He noticed how Will had been surprised by that unexpected closeness. “I keep the armchair for therapies. We are sharing a rare moment of informal friendship. Isn't this uplifting?”

Will took the glass and nodded, looking down again to the book.

“Is this what this religion is about? Good and Evil as black and white?”  
“This is what the world is about, apparently.” Hannibal sipped his rum. “The entire human system is based on the conviction that there is someone to thank for good things, and someone to blame for the bad ones. Governments relies on foreigners, often picturing them as the bringers of decay in a country. Religions rely on devils. Psychiatrists rely on pathologies.”

Will brought the glass to his lips, drinking slowly, thoughtfully. Hannibal's gaze fell on his throat. He admired Will's Adam's apple moving up and down, creeping under the skin.

“I'm pretty sure I don't believe in this.” Will muttered, letting his eyes follow circles around the soft lines of Hannibal's drawing.

“I believe in my empathy.” he made a sad grin. “And my empathy, my....God, if you like to call it so, tells me that we are all good, and evil, destroyers and benefactors, and the only thing we can do, is...” he drank slowly. “...hide.”

“Hide?” Hannibal shifted on the couch, to look at him better. “Hide from what?”

“From ourselves. And in most of cases, we are so good in doing it that we never have to face the truth.”

Hannibal smiled, one-sided, enjoying the sight of Will's eyelids so heavy. The man was tired. The heat from the fire, the alcohol, the comfortable couch were playing twisted games on his senses. He wondered if he should have helped Will in the guest room, soon. He hoped that such an eventuality wouldn't have made Will feel more defensive at the next session.  
   But in that moment, he just drank a bit more, looking at Will mirroring his movements, and smiled pleasantly.

“Please, go on. You rarely involve me in your theories, and due to the encounters you had in so many years with the FBI, I'm sure you can reveal a deep insight. And a fascinating one, which is more important.”

Will smiled weakly at the compliment. He noticed that hear the word _fascinating_ coming from those lips was overwhelming. And right on that thought, he prevented himself from going further on that path.

“I met so many people. So many of them are labelled like monsters. We feel better, if we do that. We feel safe. We classify, we entrap, we clean.” he looked at Hannibal, and then, as usual, lowered his eyes. “...I'm sorry, I'm being lame.”

“You are being you. It's a rare pearl. Don't you dare to sneak it away from me.” Hannibal stroked Will's thigh, friendly. “...show me.”

Will swallowed something which wasn't alcohol and wasn't air.

“Truth is...they are not. I mean, not more than I am, or you are, or anyone is.” he closed the book and finished his rum, handing the glass to Hannibal, who smiled again and filled it up. “What drives me mad is seeing all these policemen, these experts, _Jack,_ thinking that we are on the good side, and those people have to be punished, and secluded. Yes. Yes, they have to, but you know why they have to? It's not because of the law. It's not only because they can hurt other people. No, truth is, we don't want to _see._ We don't want to see them, because they are _mirrors,_ and if we look too deeply, we can see ourselves, we...we can _become.”_ he swallowed half of the drink and put the glass on the table.

Hannibal looked at him intently. Will's hands were shivering as he folded them in his lap. He wanted to say more. To say something about what had troubled him so much to push him to go there, in the middle of the night. Will was a private man, and that had been an unusual move, dropping in someone's place without any previous permission.

Hannibal didn't want him overwhelmed, anyway. He felt Will could use some deep confession, in the right timing. He didn't want him to rush, neither to make him feel like he was wasting Hannibal's time. And to do this, he had to remove useless boundaries.    
   Will was sitting on the edge of the coach, his posture one of someone ready to leave. He kept glancing at the clock, his hands nervous around the glass.  
  To stop a man from running away, you have to remove his shoes. It was a Lithuanian way of saying, used with a second meaning, but in this case, Hannibal decided to follow it literally.

 “Will, wouldn't you feel better by removing your shoes?” he asked, smiling, finishing his drink. Will looked back at him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“My shoes?” he muttered, blinking, looking down to his boots.

“You came out of your house in the middle of the snow. Then, while you were patiently waiting for me on my doorsteps, the rain has soaked them more. I'd love to hear more from you as much as I would love to spare you a coldness. So, remove your shoes. And your socks. I'll get you a towel.”

He stood up, giving Will no time to argue, and walked to the guest room on the ground floor, beside the kitchen. It was the room where Randall Tier had sometimes slept, while hiding from his parents. The bed was still there, clean and tidy, and the window had some scratches on the side.  
 _Hiding._ An interesting word, he had to admit, after the insight Will had offered. He rustled in the cupboard, choosing a white, soft towel, enjoying the texture of silk and wool finely tied together. He shivered at the thought of Will's rough scent melting with the luxurious fabric.

As he walked back to the living room, he admired the view of Will diligently leaving his shoes on the side of the fireplace, the socks folded inside them, his bare feet on the floor. He rushed back to the couch as Hannibal walked in, as a shy kid surprised in doing something bad.

He sat on the couch and insisted on Will taking his feet up. The wooden floor could be quite unkind on bare skin. Will shook his head.

“”This is leather, and I don't want in any measure be responsible for any damage. My feet are wet. Just hand me the towel, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal's eyes scanned Will from toes to head, savouring the soft curves of his sweater and the sharp angles of his jaw, so tight, so tense. He saw the man, the empathy, the fear and the braveness which often crossed the line of imprudence, and he desired it. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to touch Will Graham, and worship his unique presence. 

“In ancient cultures, and still in contemporary rituals, drying someone's feet is seen as a sign of great respect, and submission in order to learn.” he smiled at Will's confusion, something he could apparently cause easily. Then, he knelt on the floor. Will's eyes widened.

“Until today, I never felt this desire. I have rarely been an alumn, and when I've been, I quickly turned out in being the master, instead. With you, it's impossible. You enclose a kind of knowledge I'll never be able to reach. Pure empathy. A gift.

A gift I want you to give me. So, allow me, Will. Make a disciple out of me.”

As he took Will's feet in the towel, drying them carefully, sliding between the toes and the little fingers, massaging the plant in doing so, he didn't look up. He didn't have to. He could savour it all without using something plain as the sight. He felt Will's warmth turning into a delicious fever, coming out in waves from the clothes. He perceived his veins welcoming the blood, letting it rush towards the feet, and up again, rejuvenated. 

He felt Will's tension grow, and then, slowly, melt. He felt him giving up at that unusual, secret exchange, given into a night where rules were apparently broken. They had taken a deeper step in their friendship. Hannibal was amused at how the discovery of submitting for someone like Will Graham was, again, _uplifting._

He took his time, being seven minutes  the sacred number for rituals, but when he finally looked up, he froze, startled.

Will was staring at him with a mute, desperate request in his eyes, and on his quivering lips.

And he had been right. We don't want to see. If we see, we _become._  
    _And he wants to become me,_  
he thought, letting the towel drop on the floor.  _And, I want to become him._  
 _We are lonely monsters._  


Hannibal straightened, still on his knees, and parted Will's legs, to allow himself in between. Will wasn't even breathing.

He made his way, like a snake, his hands climbing on the stony, warm body, from the ankles to the thighs, and then on the hips, indulging on the chest, finally reaching for Will's face. He grabbed it between his hands. Forced him to look down, as he stretched his back, inches away from Will's lips.

“Please.” Will muttered, not closing his eyes.

“That's something I can do.” Hannibal whispered, before cutting the veil and diving into Will's desire.

 

 


End file.
